


Lazy Morning

by EndlessNepenthe



Series: "Why, Where Are We Going?" "The Future." [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dog Tags, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Sleepy Bucky Barnes, Sleepy Cuddles, slightly possessive Steve, very very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndlessNepenthe/pseuds/EndlessNepenthe
Summary: Sighing in exasperation, Bucky slaps at Steve’s shoulder. “Lemme sleep, punk.”





	Lazy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from but I liked the idea of Steve pulling at the dog tags around Bucky's neck and this happened (I might also be trying to distract myself from Endgame, let me have some fluff)

_Warm._

That’s the first thing that his emerging-from-sleep brain registers. And it turns his whole world on its axis, because _that’s not right._

He remembers the chill that constantly blanketed his bones, freezing him from the inside out. No matter what he did, he was never warm.

_Soft._

The thin, threadbare cots — or occasionally, the floor — that he’d always forced himself into unconsciousness on were anything but soft.

_Clean._

Damp, dusty, moldy. He remembers those smells, scents that seemed to be the constant in every underground bunker — every underground bomb shelter — he’d been in. Almost always shadowed by the terrible metallic taint of spilled blood, he’d never been graced with the smell of anything that was truly clean.

_Safe._

That was the worst one. Even now, he finds the instinct ingrained in him itching to reach for one of his midnight stained double edged daggers; before, he would never have found himself waking up feeling safe.

There’s a heavy, unyielding weight pressing against his side, a thick leg thrown over one of his own, a strong arm around his middle pinning him down.

_Steve._

Bucky breathes, slow and even, and sinks back into unconsciousness. He’s safe, warm under the blanket they shared, not at all bothered by the warm sunbeam streaming in between the gap in the curtains and kissing one side of his face. Drowsy and feeling lazy, Bucky doesn’t bother attempting to get up — Steve is the one who always wakes up at some outrageous time to go out for a jog but he’d apparently skipped out today, meaning he wouldn’t be attempting to drag Bucky awake and out with him.

But they are attached through their souls or something similar, because although Bucky had not even allowed his breathing to fluctuate into waking rhythms, Steve is stirring, nuzzling gently at the underside of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky hears the way Steve’s breathing becomes a touch shallower and faster, slipping out of the rhythm of sleep and into wakefulness. Relaxed and pliant, Bucky dozes as Steve nips lightly at the area of his neck that’s close to his jaw, plush lips languidly exploring the smooth skin. Steve moves back up and there a press of teeth, a fleeting graze of pressure against the bone of Bucky’s jaw, leaving him sighing softly. Rolling his head to the side, Bucky obediently bares his neck to Steve, happily leaving Steve to his mission of tasting every inch of Bucky’s neck.

Humming a pleased note, Steve licks and bites down the column of Bucky’s neck, keeping all his ministrations light and tender. He inhales sharply in surprise against Bucky’s skin when he reaches the metal chain glittering around Bucky’s neck, and even mostly asleep, Bucky can’t help the slow upward curl of his lips.

Warm, careful fingers slide behind Bucky’s neck, dipping under the chain and gently tugging it out from under his shirt. Two flat, metal tags clink together in the heavy silence, and Bucky knows that wide blue eyes are reading Steve’s own name and information engraved into the metal.

“You were wearing these this whole time?” Steve breathes, voice soft with disbelief and wonder.

“Told you,” Bucky murmurs lazily, “can’t die wearing the wrong tags.”

Steve tugs at the chain almost possessively, wanting to see it pressing against Bucky’s neck, but he overestimates the length that had gotten tangled between his fingers and ends up pulling hard enough for it to bite deeply into the skin of Bucky’s neck, just a degree shy of choking him. Bucky arches his head back against his pillow, eyes flying open at the deliciously sharp sting of pain that aggressively jolted him fully awake and alert, a startled gasp torn from his throat against his will. With a horrified noise of alarm, Steve immediately flattens his hand to the back of Bucky’s neck, letting the tags dangle loosely against Bucky’s throat, just as Bucky seamlessly slides the end of his gasp into a low moan.

Bucky meets Steve’s shocked gaze with half lidded eyes and a lazy smirk. _You’ll have to try harder than that if you wanted to hurt me, Stevie._ Relieved, Steve growls playfully, ducking his head to sink his teeth into Bucky’s collarbone.

Sighing in exasperation, Bucky slaps at Steve’s shoulder. “Lemme _sleep,_ punk.”

Steve licks up the slope of Bucky’s collarbone until he meets the neck of Bucky’s shirt. Bucky sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to hold back any noises out of the knowledge that it would encourage Steve, but his soft groan is punched out of him, only slightly muffled by his efforts.

Too late, he realizes his mistake.

With a near feral grin, Steve slithers upright to straddle Bucky’s hips, insistently nuzzling at the side of Bucky’s neck until he gives in and tips his head to the side. Bucky watches as Steve bends over to nip at the sensitive spot behind Bucky’s ear, hands sliding down his sides. Stubbornly, he tries to stay silent, knowing that Steve had instantly taken Bucky’s earlier muffled groan as a challenge. Bucky knows he’s going to lose this competition, and soon; Steve is aware of exactly which buttons of Bucky’s to push, and if his wandering hands are any indication, he’s about to bring out the biggest guns he had at his disposal.

But Bucky doesn’t intend to go down without a fight.

 _“Steve,”_ Bucky growls, voice purposefully pitched much lower than it usually is, even lower than his just-woke-up rasp, dark and rough and grating like he’d swallowed a bunch of gravel.

Steve pauses, hands freezing in place. He yields readily, breaths hot and heavy against the shell of Bucky’s ear, pliant and docile as he waited for Bucky’s command. Bucky smirks; sometimes, it’s as if Steve forgets that he’s no longer the tiny scrawny kid from Brooklyn anymore, that he’s actually taller than Bucky now and could probably manage to pin Bucky down if he was smart and _very_ quick about it.

Before Bucky could even form a thought, Steve’s hands are grasping his waist, thumbs digging into the skin above the sharp bones, grip tight enough to pin Bucky to the bed. Instinctively, Bucky jerks his hips against Steve’s hold, a quiet breathy sound that’s equal parts irritated and aroused escaping from between his parted lips.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to smirk as he swoops down and kisses Bucky. He’s already lost — not that he minds, at all — so Bucky doesn’t hold back his moan when Steve bites gently at his bottom lip. When Steve pulls back to work on sucking a dark mark into the skin of where Bucky’s neck meets his shoulder, Bucky lets his hands wander up and down Steve’s back, absently running his fingers along the powerful muscle and tracing the dip of Steve’s spine.

When Steve sits back to appraise the hickey he’d likely left on Bucky’s pale skin, Bucky twists in a fluid motion, reversing their positions and sitting on Steve, who huffs a surprised laugh as he finds himself being slammed against the pillows. Bucky gazes down at Steve, languidly dragging his tongue across his bottom lip while running a hand through his hair, drawing no small amount of satisfaction from the way Steve’s pupils dilate, bright crystal blue irises receding to thin rings around the black.

Bucky leans over Steve, their noses almost touching. “You couldn’t even let me sleep in peace,” he complains, nearly murmuring against Steve’s lips.

Mouth open, tongue caught between his teeth, Steve’s eyes are like magnets, fixated on Bucky’s lips as they move to form his words.

“...What?” Bucky asks, even as his eyes glitter and laugh at Steve. _He knows exactly what._

“Buck, c'mon,” Steve whines. Bucky sits up. _“Bucky.”_

 _“Steve,”_ Bucky returns, matching Steve's tone.

Steve widens his eyes, adopting his sad Golden Retriever look. They are both perfectly aware that Steve's hands and arms are free, but Steve makes no move to use them; in fact, one quick glance down tells Bucky that those capable fingers are too busy fisting the sheets to be grabbing for anything else.

Placing his hands down on the pillow, bracing them around Steve's head, Bucky _slowly_ closes the distance between them, maintaining steady eye contact the whole way. Steve subtly tilts his chin up to give Bucky better access, and it feels like a few agonizing years have passed before their lips finally connect.

Releasing the sheets, Steve sinks his fingers into Bucky's hair, practically melting into a puddle underneath him. Bucky is fully on top of Steve, pressing him into the mattress as they simultaneously open their mouths to each other like they'd read the other's mind. Their tongues entwine slowly and sloppily, lazily chasing and exploring. The morning sunshine warms Bucky's back, and he's so content he could purr.

“Hey, are you two going to wake up anytime soon? Breakfast is ready!”


End file.
